The Cigar Blues
by Mad 'atter
Summary: New York City has never been forgiving. Ever. But Hatter is trying as hard as she possibly can to make it work with her current situation. But, in the process, her plans go astray as she meets a Newsie that has a near obsession with gambling on horses.
1. Deliver the notes

Hello. This is Mad 'atter. This is actually not my first story, but I deleted my old stories off my account because they were mediocre. So, with that, I decided to restart with a new penname and make new stories. With that, I worked on my Newsies story, which is… Gasp! The one you're reading right now! Imagine that! –Insert random surprised smiley face here- With that random note, here is my first –new– fanfiction on Newsies.

Also, anyone who wants characters from Queens in the story, email me, Ok? I love mail.

Disclaimer: I don' own nothin'! I ain' got any righ's ta these charahctahs! I wish I did, but I don'! All I own is Mary and Hatter, okay? Okay.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Unless you've actually _lived_ in New York City at one point in your pitiful life, you have no idea how horrid the place is. The city reeks of horses, sewers, people, idiots and tourists. But, worst of all, it reeks of the cruelty people inflict upon other people. You see it all the time. You see it in Harlem and Little Italy, in Chinatown and even on the streets in midtown. People reek of cruelty, whether they're the ones inflicting it or the ones being stepped upon. That part is where I squeeze in, as the victim of our 'fair' city's perverted and tainted society. I'm at the bottom of the food chain here. Gangsters look at me with disgust. Even petty thieves and beggars think I'm nothing. Everyone in the big apple looks down upon my insignificant excuse for an existence. After all this being said, you're probably thinking _'What are you? Why does everyone hate you?'_

"Extra! Extra! Man survives deadly skyscraper fall! Window wiper falls from thirty-second floor and lives to tell the tale! Read ALL about it!"

Yeah. That's right. I'm a Newsie. Newsboy. Mud. Whatever you people call us.

Notice I don't have the cheap, sleazy, and downright annoying accent? That could possibly be the reason why I don't sell papers that well. I'm cranking out thirty-five papers a day, which is pretty bad since I've been selling 'papes' for over a year now. Usually, people can get 60 papers a day by this point. But I wasn't _that_ good, apparently.

I watched people walk on by, oblivious or ignoring my yells of headlines, strange happenings, and 'breaking news'. I was at the end of my rope, finally shouting out my giant headline that would attract people, though I still had fifteen papes left.

"Gang war in Brooklyn! Ten left dead! Police have no leads!" Suddenly, people flocked to me, holding out pennies. I snatched them all up and gave out the papers right and left.

"Thank you, page four. Thanks, page four! Thank ya' sir, page four!" The people grunted at me, not even caring enough to give me a thank you. It was as if they had taken the papers from a machine or something invisible. It was as if I wasn't even here. I exhaled hard and looked to the ground. Two papers. Figures. I picked them up, and with one under my arm and one waving above me, I called out to the public, begging for their attention.

Gang wars! Come on! Read about it! Look at me! Buy my papes! Pleaaaase!

Half an hour later, two people _finally_ bit on the '32nd floor fall' story and bought my last papers. I was done. About time, it was already noon. Most newsies bought papes at eight and were done at ten. I, on the other hand, was not a good seller, as stated before. I sighed, cracked my back, and trotted back to the Lodging House with suppressed glee. Very suppressed glee.

My name? None of your business. If anybody needs to call me anything, I am called 'Hatter'. As in Lewis Carroll's 'Mad Hatter'. But I'm female. No disguising that fact. I have inky raven black hair, donated to me from my father's Italian side of the family. But, I have pale white skin and sky blue eyes, donated by my Mother's German side of the family. I'm skinny, like every newsie. A fat newsie is nigh impossible these days, unless they're cheating with their food intake somehow. I'm also lanky and tall, probably five foot four? I don't know or care. My outfit is also simple, a white shirt and grey cotton pants; both were rolled up because they were to long. No suspenders to hold the pants up, but I had a grey tam hat and a dark green vest with brown shoes and socks. These shoes were trudging though Queens, anxiously trying to get me back home as fast as possible.

Home. Psh, this is home? No. Home was in England, in the green fields north of London, with our horses and wheat. I moved to this hole when I was eight, and after that, my parents…

Wait, what am I saying? You don't care about my troubles, so why am I spitting then out to you? I don't even KNOW you. You want to hear the story of my England life, or do you want to hear the story of my newsie life? Newsie life, right? Thought so. So then, let's get back to the stupid story, okay? All right then.

Where was I then? Oh, right. Anyway, I was trudging through Queens, back to the good ol' Lodging House. The building was actually a warehouse that was converted for the numerous nonsensical newsies in East Queens. Queens doesn't have many good buildings anymore, so we all found this big warehouse and had it converted. We got a huge open building and three floors of beds, food, tables, and kids. Lots of kids. I opened the warehouse door and watched the spread before my eyes. There were kids rushing around everywhere. They were eating food, drinking, smoking cigars, gambling with their daily wages, telling stories… And in the middle of it all was Mary.

Mary was East Queens's newsie leader. See, Queens is the biggest part of the city, to big to have one ruler over it, like Brooklyn. So, it's split in somewhat uneven halves. Mary was leader of the bigger half, of eastern Queens. West Queens, the smaller half, was ruled by someone else. East Queens was also dominant over West, much to West Queens's loathing.

East Queens was what would be called a 'training center' for newsies. Most new kids come here for 'training'; then other Boroughs took what they thought were the best without a fuss. This little 'deal' Mary came up with kept East Queens on good terms with everybody, and even on shaky terms with West Queens.

Mary herself was a spunky and busty Irish redhead with a temper to match 'The King of Brooklyn', Spot Conlon. It has been said she trained Conlon, but neither of them admitted (or denied) it.

There I go off again, rambling. I ought to watch my mouth sometimes. Do I talk to much? Am I giving you too much info? Hope not.

Mary flashed me a bright smile and her freckles twinkled all across her face. She beckoned me over with her hand as I walked in. I strolled through the mayhem to the middle of the room. She stood on her table with a captain's chair behind her back. I pulled myself up onto the table next to her and watched the chaos surrounding us.

She watched her boys (and few girls) like a hawk, her piercing green eyes scouring her newsies as they played cards, bet, drank, and smoked cigars. Her baseball bat was slung over her shoulder at an awkward angle only she could accomplish. She finally was reminded of my inferior presence and ruffled my already-untidy hair absently.

"So, Hatta', ya gonna stay or go?" Usually, newsies were picked by other Boroughs within a year of training. I hadn't been, even though Mary thought I was good enough.

"I don't know, Mary."

Mary sighed up to the ceiling. A small scuffle broke out on the second floor and we watched curiously as it died after a few curse words were uttered and a blow was exchanged. Mary snapped her fingers, reminded of something, before digging around in her pockets and producing a note. She handed it to me, then burrowed some more random pockets and produced two others. She pulled the one I was holding out of my hand and held it in front of my face like a wanted poster.

"This goes ta Spot Conlon. See? Name's right on it. Brooklyn. You' find him at da docks. Don' give it to nobody but Conlon." I nodded and she patted my head. With that she handed me another. "Jack Kelly." I nodded. "He'll be in da Manhattan Lodgin' House. Ya know where dat is, righ'? Only let him see it." I bobbed my head again. She gave me the third note carelessly. "Give dat one ta Racetrack Higgins in Manhattan. If ya' can't find 'im, just pass it to another newsie and tell 'em Mary needs it ta get ta 'im. If ya DO find Race, tell da bastahd he owes me a Havana too." Mary chuckled to herself. "But, fah yoah sake, I'd try and find 'im." She slapped me on the back and pushed me off the table, grinning almost knowingly. "Hop to it Hatta'."

With that, I trotted off to do my errand. I went off to Brooklyn first because I had to. See, Queens is right across the river from Manhattan, but there was no bridge built yet over the Hudson. Therefore, the only way to get to Manhattan was to go through Brooklyn and over the viaduct there. As I sauntered over the Queens/Brooklyn border, I realized a fatal error and swore so loud that the seagulls nearby took flight.

"SHIT!"

Brooklyn was surrounded on three sides by water. All three of those sides had docks on them. It would take me at least two hours to find the right dock! I cussed bloody murder in the street and panicked loudly and aggressively. I couldn't go back to Mary and ask 'which dock', or she'd hit me with her bat, cuss at me, and give the notes to someone more 'competent' enough to deliver. Moreover, if word got out I couldn't do a simple errand; I would never be picked out for another borough. I cussed violently, my Italian temper flaring to full speed. I'm so dumb! I stomped off, looking for the nearest strip of ocean. Now, if I was the King of Brooklyn, where would I be? North? East? South? Southwest?

"This is Conlon terratoiry." I silently thanked God repeatedly in my head as I pivoted impassively and held up my fists, just in case. The boy talking to me had black stains on his hands, a sign that he was a newsie. His dark hair curled on top of his head. I spat on the ground to the side.

"I have a note for the 'King'." I held it up between my fingertips.

"Give it ta me." He snatched for it, but I pulled my hand back and smacked his with my left. He drew back instantaneously with a glower in his eyes.

"Mary said Conlon eyes only."

"I won' read it."

"Will so."

"You with East Queens?"

"Yeah, and I got two more notes to deliver. Take me to Spot." The boy rolled his eyes and grabbed my collar, dragging me off behind him. I yelped and thrashed around angrily. He dragged me for a few blocks until I saw the bridge and heard shouts accompanied with splashes and crashing sounds. The boy pushed me onto the dock where Spot was settled, shooting beer bottles with his slingshot in an attempt to keep himself occupied. Why doesn't he just go swimming? Spot acknowledged my presence and the boy left, hopping into the icy Hudson water. I was suddenly reminded about how hot it was outside and how dry my mouth felt.

Spot turned his stony grey blue eyes toward me and stared impassively. His gaze was powerful, to say the least. I couldn't hold his stare and looked at my feet, ashamed. He hopped off his crate and I gave him the note.

"From Mary." I muttered. He smirked.

"Really? Aw damn, I though' it was a note proclaimin' yoa deep love for me." His newsies hooted and snickered behind him, making kissing noises. My face flushed and burned as I pivoted and started walking away.

"Stop." I turned back slowly, dread on my face. Spot was no longer bemused; instead, he was reading the note, his face looking puzzled and slightly angry. He pulled a pencil from one of his subordinate's pockets and scribbled something onto it before folding it up and depositing it into my waiting hand.

"There. That oughta satisfy Mary."

I took the note back and rolled my eyes. Spot smirked again and waved me off without another word. The last thing I heard was a crashing sound of a beer bottle breaking on a post next to me before I was breaking out into a full run, snorting laughter following me.

I made it up to the Brooklyn Bridge and saw the boys splashing around below in the bay. One saw me from the water and pointed me out to Spot, who was back on his crate, playing with his cane. I could see Conlon turn from his position on the dock and stare at me. My brain suddenly turned out and I smiled wickedly before taking action. I sucked in a deep breath and leaned far over the side of the bridge and screamed at the top of my lungs:

"_**AREN'T KINGS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BETTER MANNERS!?**_"

And I swore I heard him laughing out loud from the pier as I took off running.


	2. Apples and Cola

Another Chapter… I must be crazy. I'm so tired I'm about ready to fall over, and here I am, writing another chapter. Ugh. I feel like I'm coming down with something again too, but I may just be overworked. I just got over the flu.

Also: I use the word 'Negro' in this chapter a few times. I don't use it as a derogative, but as slang, many people used the word back then with a lot of other foul language.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing! I wish I owned SOMEBODY, so I would have SOMEONE to cling to while I watch Newsies a bazillion times each day…

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It only took me an hour to get in, through, and out of Brooklyn. Even then, I was still rushing. I wanted to get this job done fast and buy me a nice, cold drink. I took off and managed to find the Manhattan Paper Distribution Center instead of the Lodging House. I stopped in the square and watched as the newsboys wandering about. I was confused. Didn't they have anything _better_ to do with themselves? You know, like get a job or something? Maybe they could sell papes! What a concept! Regardless, they meandered around with no destination in mind. Some were playing cards, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Others were nailing wood together and painting them with letters. I didn't bother to ask what. I was severely perplexed by this point. I was still pondering the same question over and over: Why were they just _lazing_ about like… bums? Shouldn't they be out selling? Or at the Lodging House? That's when I looked up to see the green board where the headlines went and the big white word scrawled across it. The one word proclaimed it all, the answer to my question.

"You goin' on strike wit' us?" I whirled around quickly and stared at the boy with the greasy-looking, straight brown hair that was talking at me. Another boy was also looking out from behind the first, his curly brown hair sticking out from his classic tartan newsboy cap. Then, yet another boy peeked from behind the second. This one was small and adorable, possibly eight or nine. I looked to the straight haired one and realized right away why Mary sent me.

"Jack Kelly?" I asked, begging, no, _beseeching_ God that he would say-

"Yeah, tha's me."

…God, why do you hate me so?

I pulled the note out of my pocket and offered it to Jack with shaky fingers. "From Mary." I said as confidently as I could, which wasn't much. Jack took it out of my hand gently and unfolded it, scanning with his eyes. He pushed the older kid away when he tried to read and frowned before muttering Mary's note aloud to the prying guy.

"Kings joins with Queens. David, pencil." Jack sighed and pulled a pencil from the curly haired boy's hand and scrawled his reply, slowly and carefully. How unlike Spot, I mused; watching carefully. Spot's words had flown across the page I'd given him. After a few minutes of stopping, starting, scrawling and scratching, he handed the paper back to me, folded up neatly again. I smiled weakly at him and turned, looking for anyone that could blatantly looked like a 'Racetrack'. Jack watched me until I spoke to him absently, still scanning the crowd of striking newsies.

"I'm… Looking for… a… 'Racetrack'." I finally uttered, my mind miles away from the square and somewhere else.

"Well, Sheepshead Races ain't _that_ fah."

"I mean the guy 'Racetrack'." I clarified, still looking 'round. Jack chuckled at his joke and walked off, leaving me clueless and slightly embarrassed. The curly haired boy he called 'David' earlier frowned at him and turned to me with a apologetic smile. He extended his hand to me and I spit on mine tentatively before shaking. Both of us shook quickly and wiped our hands on our pants.

"That's so disgusting!" He muttered. I nodded.

"I know."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Everyone does. So I do to." I shrugged. He nodded like he understood.

"I'm David." He half smiled at me before pointing across the square at a poker game going on at Horace Greenley's statue feet. "Race is over there. He's the Italian-looking one. Can't miss him." He added helpfully. Jack had long since disappeared with the little boy hanging around David. David took off after them both, leaving me alone in the square. I felt newsie eyes on me as I trotted in the opposite direction to finish my errand and go home for the day.

---------------------------------------------------

'_Today jus' ain't my day.'_ I thought, staring at my virtually-useless poker hand. Ace of spades, four of clubs, two of clubs, Jack of clubs, and a four of diamonds. I cursed to myself as my face stayed straight. If I lost this hand, I would lose all my money for the rest of the week. So much for bluffing my way out. But… If I won, I would have _triple_ my starting money. I looked up blankly at Kid Blink and Mush, both staring impassive at their cards in wait. Blink raised. I called, helpless. Then it was time to discard. Mush discarded and suddenly Blink was yelling something at him about discarding cards. I rolled my eyes and fidgeted with my hand, trying to figure out what to get rid of. If I got rid of the diamond, then my pair would be gone. But if I got rid of it and my spade, then I could possibly get a flush.

As I toyed with the idea, I felt someone sneaking up behind me. I looked up and around and saw a new girl looking at my cards; fascinated with my dilemma. I hid my cards and she peered at me through her hair, her eyes staring at me oddly. She moved her hair to the side and crouched next to me.

"What?" I huffed, and I turned back to my cards. She leaned forward a little and her hair fell into her face again. She sighed and blew at it. Her hair moved away from her eyes and she stared at the cards I was holding up once more. She pointed at the Ace and four, flicking at them.

"I'd say get rid of those." She whispered in my ear. I whispered back into hers angrily.

"If I get rid of that one, then my pair's gonna be gone. Beside, yah a _goil._ Goils can' play cards." She stuck her tongue out at me. I debated whether to tell her to bug off or take her advice.

"Just rid of them." She muttered. "If you lose, I'll pay you back. If you win, we'll split seventy-thirty." I looked at her.

"I'm seventy, right?" She looked at me and nodded skeptically at my stupidity. I sighed and discarded. Blink and Mush finally stopped fighting (Blink won) and we pulled cards out of the deck. I dreaded the few moments before I flipped them over, my heart pumping and I was sweating, although _she_ seemed almost unfazed by the enormous amount of pressure and she watched as I flipped over the cards that would decide my fate. I couldn't look.

"Ace of clubs, eight of clubs." She murmured into my eardrum, and I almost grinned. Blink raised again with newfound confidence, Mush and I called. The boys laid their cards down; Blink had three Kings and Mush had a Queen pair and a Jack pair. I sighed and they looked at me, grinning at my 'loss'. I threw my clubs down and began laughing. It took them a minute to realize what was going for me and they swore. Loudly. Blink strung curse words together like clothes on a line and Mush just cussed random words as loud as possible. I looked to the girl next to me, she was smiling faintly at our win before sitting cross legged and pooling the coins. I took the pot from her as Mush and Blink stomped off with their pockets empty. I divided the pot right, splitting the dollar fifty between us like she wanted. She shoved her share in her pocket and fumbled with something in her hand, handing me a paper.

--------------------------------------------------------

"Mary told me to give you this." I declared, feeling new money weighing my pocket down. I smirked to myself, feeling the coins loosely. 'Racetrack' read the note and frowned slightly, looking up at me and back down to the note. I suddenly remembered what Mary had told me. "She also said… you owe her a Havana." I said slowly, and he looked at me, confused.

"A Havana?" Race stared at me and stood, shoving his money into his pants as well. "Ah. I'm goin' wit' ya den."

He took one of his cigars out of his pocket and lit it, taking a drag and blowing it in my direction. I coughed up a lung; he smiled at me semi-apologetically and blew the next one out of the way. "Crap. I don' remembah losin' a bet wit' Mahry." I shrugged (as if I would know) and left with him trailing me. Jack began following him and soon he was strolling along with us, David and a scrawny Negro kid he kept calling 'Boots' coming up behind him. We were like a strung out line and people snickered at us when we walked by, me leading like I was queen. I turned to Jack and huffed.

"Why are you following me?" I asked, face as stern as possible. Jack smiled brightly at my expression.

"We'ah actually goin' ta Brooklyn." Jack took the lead, walking, talking, and dodging at the same time. He seemed to know where he was going. I shrugged as we came up on the Brooklyn bridge in sight.

We finally got to the bridge and Jack and Boots yelled over the side and talked with David as me and Racetrack descended down toward Queens.

"So…" I said lamely, trying to think of something to chat about. "I'm Hatter." That was about all I could say without looking crazy, overeager, or a blonde.

"Hatta'? Tha's an intahrestin' name." He muttered through his cigar.

"It's from Alice in Wonderland." He stared blankly. "It's a novel." I added helpfully.

"Nevah read it."

"Same here." He looked at me oddly and I smirked slightly. "People just call me that." Race shrugged slightly and said nothing back. With that, the conversation dropped like a bad headline. We went through Brooklyn quickly and quietly, but the conversation picked up again in Queens when my stomach growled.

Now, I've read some books. I can't read well, but I read to improve my vocabulary when I sell. In some books, girls stomachs growl and they go bright red and trip over words trying to cover it up. Now, do people do it in real life? No. They say 'Man, I'm hungry.'. I said nothing, instead debating what I would want to eat as Race looked at me from the corner of his eye. He heard it, apparently. My hand clutched my stomach.

"You hungry?" He asked me, bemused. That imbecile, using my stomach's emptiness against me! Why, I outghta… I glared at him and he laughed. I nodded to him slightly, which made him laugh even more. "At least yoah honest. I'll give ya that." And with that, he walked off. I stopped and panicked. Where was he going? Crap, where'd he go? I spotted him from the corner of my eye at a fruit stand and bargaining with the male in charge there. I peered around the crowd as he bought something and walked somewhere else. I glanced in front of me and wondered where he went.

I felt someone tap my shoulder and I whirled around to see Racetrack standing behind me. He had snuck up on me! He laughed at my expression, my hand was still over my grumbling stomach and I looked surprised. He threw me an apple and I fumbled with it for a moment until my fingers latched on to the skin. He bit into his, juice running down his chin; and handed me a bottle of cold Coca-Cola. I tore the cap open and gulped it, my throat becoming hydrated again. I turned my attention back to the apple, biting into it quickly and fiercely. I was ravenous, I ate the thing like a heathen. By the time we were over the Queens/Brooklyn border, it was gone.

I threw the core away and started on my soda again. Race, on the other hand, was still eating his apple and was sipping his soda. He watched me curiously as I gulped the last of my soda and threw the bottle in a trash can before licking my fingers to get the sticky apple juice off. There wasn't a better way to do it; after all, if I wiped it on my clothes, my clothes would just get sticky. My manners were a bit lacking, I realized. Race didn't seem to mind, instead asking:

"Does Mahry stahve ya or sometin?" He smirked slightly and raised his eyebrows at me, I stuck my tongue out at him.

"I'm hungry, bug off." Race laughed at that. He just laughed. I liked his laugh. It was loud, like other newsies, but it had a ring to it… Yeah, I just said his laugh had a ring to it. Shoot me.

As we approached the warehouse, he sped ahead of me and opened the door for me.

"Ladies foist." He said in an overly sweet tone.

"Well then, go ahead." I called. His face twisted, he ducked his head behind the door to laugh again. At his own suspense. I laughed to and went in anyway. He gave me a push from behind halfway through the door and I stumbled in, glared at him, and he smiled at me.

Oh. _What_ a gentleman.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Hatter soon disappeared into the warehouse of the Queens newsies, and I wandered in a different direction. It was business here. I talked with the errand girl, and soon, she would leave. I watched her go up the second floor stairs and evaporate into the crowd. I walked through the newsies quickly, stopping to say hello to some of them, hurrying by ones I owed money. Soon I was stopped in conversation.

"Race! I haven' seen ya in ages!" I turned to see a brown haired girl waving at me. I knew her right away and waved back.

"Hey Pipes, how's it rollin'?" I yelled before continuing away toward Mary.

Mary was full blood Irish. I knew she had a temper and a baseball bat, and hopefully, I didn't owe her any money along with this Havana she was claiming. I at least wanted this stupid note sorted out. Mary saw me and grinned, knowing what was coming at her.

Mary was smart. She was REALLY smart. She could talk the bulls in circles and make her escape. She could be holding the key to the city and by the time she was done with the bulls, she could make them think that she was the princess of Ireland and the key had been given to her by the mayor himself. That trick you think would come from talking fast, but no, it came from talking smart. Talking fast can get you _in_ trouble as fast as it can get you _out_. Talking smart only works _one way_. And I could tell as I was walking up to Mary, that I had been summoned here. She had managed to put her brain to work and had gotten me here without even having to ask.

"So, Mahry… Wha's dis?" I asked, holding up the note to her. She grinned wider and gestured for me to sit down. I put the note back in my pocket and I took a seat. She sat. She got herself a drink; I still had my coke.

"It was jus' a… suggestion. Ya tol' me da other day at da races dat you was in short supply."

"Dat ain' what I meant, Mahry, and you know it." I muttered. She snorted at me and glared.

"What, ain' good enough foah ya den? Huh? Come on Race." Her Irish temper flared at me, her green eyes were killing me with her glare. If I stayed on the subject much longer, I was gonna get hurt.

"So, why da Havana?" I asked quickly. She calmed down and looked around, I saw her eyes lock and she looked at the left. I followed her eyes to Hatter, who was sitting on a chair on the second floor, reading a book. She mouthed some of the words, she obviously wasn't very literate like Specs or Jack. At least she could read. But, after all, all newsies had to read. If you couldn't read then you couldn't make up headlines.

"Did she make ya laugh?" Mary asked offhandedly. My eyebrows slouched together and I nodded.

"You tol' me at da races da other day one of my goils couldn't make ya laugh." I stopped and tried to figure. Wait. She had told Hatter before she had made to laugh to tell me I owed Mary a Havana because she made me laugh even though she hadn't made me laugh yet? Is this confusing you too?

"Ya tol' her ta make me laugh?" I asked, pulling out the Havana and giving it to her.

"Nope." She pocketed it.

"Then how'd ya know dat-"

"I trusted her ta do da job righ'." She said. That was Mahry. Being smart. She sighed and looked to Hatter again. "She's a good newsie. T'inks she can' sell, but she can. Da goil's got moxie. If she bought more papes, she could sell dem all."

"Why ya tellin' _me_ dis?" I asked, drinking the last of my soda. The aftertaste lingered in my mouth as I licked my lips. Mary glanced to me and sighed. She suddenly looked tired.

"I wan' Manhattan ta take 'er. Brooklyn won'. Speakin' of which, hol' on." She looked back over to Hatter and yelled. "Oi! Hatter! Where's-" Hatter was already up, down the stairs, and holding two other notes out to her by that point. Mary pocketed them and Hatter left again with her book in hand.

"Can ya' ask Jack if he would look aftah da goil? I know wit' da strike goin' on, you guys got a lot goin' on now, so I feel like a rube foah askin'."

"I'll ask Jack." I said, and stood, cracking my back. She waved me goodbye and I left, shoving my hands in my pockets. I felt like a rube myself. Mary had made a monkey out of me and she knew it. But I would keep to my word, I would ask Jack about Hatter.

Halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge, I remembered Mary's note still in my pocket. I yanked it out and unfolded it carefully before staring at the cautious writing.

'Hey Race, guess what! She's single!'

I stared begrudgingly at Mary's halfhearted attempts to get me a girl before holding the note out over the Hudson. I unceremoniously dropped the note, ready for it to fall into the inky black water. Instead, a gust of sudden wind blew it back into my face. I blinked and pulled it off. The wind stopped altogether. There had been no wind at all today, not even a lick. And suddenly, there had been a single gust? Was someone trying to tell me something? I blinked, huffed, and shrugged.

"Ah, hell. I'll try dis goil out."


End file.
